Won't Go Home Without You
by Verdreht
Summary: When Dom finds out where Brian's been hiding since he went on the run, he comes to Miami looking to bring him back. Only, when he gets there, he finds bringing him back is one thing; bringing him back in one piece is another. But for Brian, Dom thinks he's up for the challenge. Because he won't go home without him. (Set after 2nd movie)
1. Chapter 1

A year and a half ago, Dom would've never dreamed he'd be here.

Fresh on the run in Mexico, his family fractured and his heart ten kinds of shattered, he'd thought he'd never come home.

If he was smart, he would've ditched the Supra the second he got out of LA. But then, if he was smart, he would've done a lot of things differently. Especially now that he knows what he does.

He's not smart, though. At least not when it comes to _him_.

So, he didn't ditch it. He raced some_ cabrón_ in La Jolla that thought he was the shit for his Chevy Chevelle, and put the Supra in storage before he crossed the border. After that, it was just one long series of dirt roads and villas getting smaller in his rearview, until he ended up in a snake pit of a town south of Ensenada.

It was two months before he risked calling home.

He was just planning to check in on everybody, to see if Jesse and Vince were okay. Last time he'd seen the kid, he'd been lying on the sidewalk with a couple holes in him, and Vince hadn't been in much better shape when that helicopter had taken him away.

That was the plan.

Then Mia told him he could come home. She didn't even give him time to argue, just launched into explaining everything that had happened.

Jesse had survived the shooting. Mia had kept him stable, and Leon had gotten there in time to race them to the hospital. He'd saved Jesse's life.

Mia was doing well, too. She'd moved on, found herself a doctor. She told Dom he was smart, well-off, kind…he was good to her, and Dom figured that _almost_ made him good enough for her

As for Letty, though…Letty had skipped town, Mia told him. Dom guessed he'd always known it would happen, just as soon as she figured out he wasn't what she wanted. He just wasn't sure if she figured it out before or after he figured out the same thing about her.

Part of him wanted to blame Brian for that, too. Because somewhere between Tijuana and Rosarito, he realized he'd figured it out. The way those crazy blue eyes had flashed after that first race; the way he'd grinned, cheeks flushed red and hair whipping wildly around his face when he'd smoked that Lambo on the Supra's test run; the way those lean, wiry muscles rolled smooth under his tan skin when the garage was just too damned hot for shirts.

He'd figured out what he wanted.

He'd just figured it out too late.

Brian was gone, Mia told him. In the wind. He'd skipped town right after Dom, and when he'd asked why, she'd told him.

He'd lost his badge. For letting Dom go that day, he'd lost his badge. And because the buster couldn't do anything by halves, he'd gone and gotten a warrant out for him, too. Aiding and abetting – and what the fuck is that, Dom thought, because he wasn't even a fugitive anymore.

Apparently, Brian had made sure of that. As if they hadn't owed him enough.

There hadn't been any prints on the Hondas; they'd all been wiped clean. And the truck driver wasn't talking, not after he'd plugged holes in a guy. Cops didn't tend to look too kindly on vigilante justice.

And Jesse and Vince…Brian had used his pull as a police officer while he still had it to get them priority treatment, and even if Dom wanted to hate him for being a cop, how the fuck could he do it when Brian used it to do things like that? And then to just throw it all away, to give him the keys and let him run…Dom thought he had to've known what would happen.

The fact that he did it anyway told Dom everything he needed to know about Brian O'Conner. He was family.

He _is_ family.

And that's why, even though Dom's glad to be here with his team, getting ready to race a quarter mile of LA home turf, it feels like something's missing. Because something is. And the fact that Brian's the whole reason this is even possible, the whole reason his team is still together, isn't lost on Dom. He's keenly, _painfully_ aware of it, and the mechanic in him as much as the man in him is _screaming_ at him to fix it.

He needs to bring Brian back. He needs to make his family whole again, and fill that gaping hole that no one else seems to notice but him. He needs to make this right.

More than anything, though, he just needs to get his Buster back.


	2. Chapter 2

He didn't race that night.

He'd been planning to. With truck-jacking off the table – he'd nearly lost half his family to that last heist, and it wasn't worth the risk – street races were the big money makers. Between them and the garage and the store, they definitely weren't hurting, and even if things died down with the truckers, he wasn't planning on going back.

It had nothing to do with the buster.

That night was set to be a big score. Some new bloods with deep pockets and big egos looking to blow a couple grand of their daddies' money so they could act like they were tough.

Dom was gonna smoke 'em. Send their trust fund asses all the way back to the Hills. It would be like taking candy from babies, which he wouldn't be too proud of, but it'd put those brats in their place and go a long way towards paying off parts for a new build they were doing, so he'd take one for the neighborhood.

But then he saw Hector, and it turned out Hector's wanted to talk to him. He had some news he thought Dom might want to hear about some crazy ass white boy racer – they called him "The Bullet," which Dom thought was kind of stupid, but that wasn't the time or place – that'd been tearing up the racing scene in Miami the past year.

He didn't know about "The Bullet," but "crazy ass white boy" sounded pretty damn familiar, and he was already getting it in his head to make a trip down to Miami real soon when Hector told him the rest.

Apparently, Hector had a cousin down there, and he'd heard through the grapevine that said crazy ass white boy had gotten himself in with Carter Verone, Miami's own personal Kingpin. The man was in drug running, gun running, and a whole lot of other shit people just didn't talk about.

The thought of Brian being anywhere near a guy like that made Dom's blood run cold and boil all at the same time.

He barely took the time to explain the situation to the team before he hit the road. Leon or Vince could take the race and win hands down, so that was no loss, and Dom sure as shit couldn't sit by with his thumbs up his ass knowing Brian was in with a man that made Johnny Tran look like a fucking saint.

So, after a quick stop by the house to throw about a week's worth of shit together in a bag, he hit the I-10 running and took off for Miami.

It's been two days since then. Forty hours, and he's spent most of them driving, which wouldn't usually bother him, except that's forty hours' worth of trouble the buster could've gotten himself into, and Dom knows from experience that Brian's got a fucking gift when it comes to getting into trouble.

He passed Miami Gardens about ten minutes ago, and he's starting to get impatient. Except that's a lie; he's been impatient since he left LA, and it's just getting worse the longer this takes. He caught something on the news at the gas station he hit on the way into Miami about Carter Verone being taken into custody, and he knows Brian had a hand in it, mostly because they were showing footage of a car parked on Verone's yacht, which is the definition of stupid.

Which means it was _probably_ Brian that did it, that _crazy ass white boy_.

But he's Dom's crazy ass white boy, and Dom's still not sure whether he's filing that stunt under the 'reasons to beat said white boy' part of his plan, or the 'reasons to kiss him.' Because he's going to do both, soon as he gets his hands on him; it's just a question of when and in what order.

The first question's looking like it's about to get answered, too, because he thinks he sees a sign up ahead for Tej's Garage. He does a quick double check of the text from Hector, and yeah, this is the place.

It doesn't look like much, though. It looks kind of like they took an old fast food joint on the waterfront and slapped a garage on the side of it. But then, Dom knows better than to judge a book by its cover; his garage isn't exactly much to look at, either. The insides are good, though, and that's what matters. And what's inside that garage – at least, what's supposed to be, if Hector's cousin's good on his word – matters more to Dom than he can imagine.

It's almost dark out as Dom gets out of his car. The lights are still on at the garage, but it's not looking like there's anybody home. That's fine. He isn't here for the garage; he's here for what's out back of it. And judging by the '99 Silver Skyline with the busted up front fender he sees parked inside the garage, it looks like he's going to find what he's looking for.

He goes around the back, and he's kind of thrown for a second when he sees a bunch of house boats lined up. He's not real sure which one's Brian's, and Hector's cousin wasn't real specific about then, but he's not feeling really patient at the moment, so he's about to start knocking on doors.

But then he sees it.

On the boathouse to the left, the porch's got car floor mats for the door mat and a table full of parts, and if that's not Brian's place, then he doesn't know him as well as he thinks. And that…that's definitely not the case.

He's trying real hard to stick to the 'don't judge a book' policy as he steps down off the dock onto the porch of the boat, but it's not working for him so well anymore. A garage is one thing, but this is where Brian _lives_, and as far as he can tell, it's a piece of shit that doesn't even look like it should be floating.

It occurs to him that maybe he should stop for a second, think about how he's gonna do this. He's just tracked down an ex-cop after a year and a half, and he's not really sure they parted under good terms, and Brian's probably still a little on edge after Verone. He thinks he should maybe be a little more delicate with this.

Unfortunately, he's already banging on wall beside the door – because he's not sure the door itself could take much more than a strong wind – and stepping back to wait until the door opens. And it _will_ open, whether Brian's the one opening it or not.

It only takes a few seconds, before he sees the curtain pull aside and the door slides open, and Dom sees Brian for the first time in a year and a half.

He thinks he sees Brian before Brian sees him.

"Tej, man, thanks for the assist, but I'm—" and then Brian looks up, and his eyes go wide, and shit, he couldn't look more thrown if Dom was pointing a gun at his head. "Dom."

"Brian," Dom replies, and he's smirking, because _fuck_ it's good to see Brian again, and part of him just wants to grab him by those thin hips and shove him against the wall of the houseboat and kiss him until he _knows_ where he belongs. God knows he wants to.

The only thing stopping him is the look on Brian's face. It's not so much the deer-in-headlights; that, he can fix pretty quick. It's the haggardness that does it. Brian looks…shit, he looks worn out. His eyes are red-rimmed and bloodshot, and it looks like he's got two shiners the shadows are so dark.

Although, now that he's looking at him, he thinks the one on the right might actually be a shiner. His eye's kind of puffy, and there's a pretty wicked-looking bruise straddling his eyebrow that's starting to swell up nice.

"What're you doing here, Dom?" Brian asks when he finally seems to find his voice. Even that sounds rough, like he's been shouting. Whatever reaction Dom was expecting to get from him, this definitely isn't it. He thinks Brian might actually be too tired to get worked up, and for a guy with as much energy as he has, that's kind of scary.

There's a part of Dom, though, that's relieved. He'd been half expecting a shouting match, half expecting some kind of trouble. Hell, he'd had a couple scenarios worked out in his head where this had actually gone to blows. But, no. Brian's just standing there, leaning back against his doorway with one hand in his pocket and the other barred across the door, looking at Dom like he can't quite believe he's there, and hasn't quite made it past that to anything else.

Dom can work with that.

"Two things," he tells him, his arms folded across his chest. "First was going to be beating your Barstow ass for lying to me and skipping town before I could get back." He's not really sure if he means that or if he's just saying that, because looking at Brian now, he's realizing he doesn't think he has it in him to hurt him like that, no matter how angry he was. "But judging by this shiner you've got, it looks like someone beat me to it."

He steps forward, then, and reaches for Brian's face, and even when Brian flinches back, he doesn't back off. Brian's gonna have to learn to trust him again, and this is a good start. He goes until his hand meets Brian's face, until his thumb can trace the edge of the bruising that's just beginning to spread down his cheek. And he can see Brian's eyes starting to widen, can practically see the thoughts behind them. He's starting to get it, Dom thinks. He's a bright guy; he's starting to catch on.

And he isn't backing away.

Dom's thinking that's a good sign.

He feels the muscles of Brian's jaw working beneath his hand, and watches his tongue dart out to over pink lips, wetting them. "And what's the second thing?" And even through the fatigue, Dom can see some of that old spark shining through. The challenge. "Or did someone beat you to that, t—"

Before Brian can even finish the thought, Dom's crushing his lips to his. He steps in closer until he's got Brian pinned against the wall, one hand braced on the wall beside Brian's head and the other still cupping his cheek.

For a second, Brian doesn't respond. He doesn't move; he doesn't even seem to _breathe. _

But then he does, and _fuck_, Brian really doesn't do anything in halves. He's kissing Dom back, and it's hard and heated and more of a rush than any quarter-mile Dom's ever raced, and he knows in that moment that no one else will ever be right. It's Brian.

It's always been Brian.

When air finally makes them part – he doesn't think he's ever hated breathing so much in his life – he doesn't surrender any of the distance he gained, and he keeps his hand on Brian's cheek.

"Second thing," he tells him, "is I'm bringing you home." And he knows now that there's no two ways about it: he can't leave here without Brian.

He sees a look flash in Brian's eyes that looks a lot like hope, but then a cloud falls over it. Doubt, confusion…he knows this is a lot to take in, and he knows there's a dozen questions whipping through Brian's head at a couple hundred miles an hour even before Brian opens his mouth to speak.

They'll get to that. For the time being, though…

"Slow down, Buster," Dom says, pressing his thumb over Brian's kiss-reddened lips before he can get a word out. "Talking can wait; I ain't going anywhere, and you…you need a shower."

Brian's brows furrow for a second – and Dom thinks that can't feel great with that lump on his head – before his lips twitch. It's not one of his face-splitting grins, but Dom's glad to see it.

"What is it with you people and showers?" he says, and Dom thinks he's just gonna let that go, because Brian's turning away from him and heading inside. "You can come in if you want. It ain't much to look at, but it's home."

Dom's gonna let that one slide, he thinks. He's got plenty of time to set the record straight.

After all, like he said: he ain't going anywhere.


	3. Chapter 3

Dom's standing just inside the doorway, leaning back against the wall and watching as Brian pads on into the cabin ahead of him.

"Just, you know, make yourself comfortable," Brian says a little awkwardly, glancing back at him as he fishes a handful of clothes out of a big trunk under the window. "There's beer in the mini-fridge, or whatever." He straightens up, and Dom can't help noticing it doesn't have that usual ease about it that it usually does. Brian's usually so fluid, so smooth, but right now, he's acting like he's damn near arthritic.

That doesn't sit well with Dom. He's hoping the shower will help, but if not, he's thinking they might have to postpone their chat until after he's worked out some of that tension for him. Maybe even until he's gotten some sleep, because Dom doesn't think he's ever seen him looking so worn out.

And on that note, "Try not to fall asleep in there," he calls after him. Brian's just disappeared into a door off to the left in the back, and he's assuming it's the bathroom, because a few seconds later, the water cuts on.

Dom's thinking that means he has time to kill. Not that the Buster takes marathon showers or anything. At least, he didn't the times he crashed at the house. But at the pace he's moving, Brian's not gonna be breaking any speed records, and Dom would bet good money it's gonna take longer than his usual five minutes before he's coming out of that bathroom.

He doesn't mind. He knows damn well how good a hot shower can feel on sore muscles – it's mostly why he suggested it in the first place, because he _knows_, just from looking at him, at the way he's moving around, that Brian's sore as shit – and as far as he's concerned, if it helps, then he can take as long as he needs.

Besides, he's kind of curious about where Brian's been living while he's been here in Miami, and this gives him time to scope out the digs. First glance hasn't really been all that impressive, and as Dom pushes off the wall and walks farther into the houseboat, he's finding that the rest of the glances aren't all that much better.

To be fair, it's not a dump. He just thinks that Brian could do better, preferably to the tune of a two-story in Los Angeles with a garage and a master bedroom that's big enough for two. But that's a conversation for another time.

He knows it's not gonna be easy, getting Brian to just pack up and come back with him. The guy's too hardheaded, too independent. He's not gonna do what he doesn't want to do just because Dom's asking, and this isn't the kind of thing where Dom can make him. Dom needs him to _want_ to come back. He needs him to _want_ to come home.

They're headed in the right direction, though. Brian might be a little freaked out, but it's hard to tell how much of that is him, and how much of it is leftover nerves from that shit he was pulling with that psycho Verone. And Dom's gonna have to get the details on that, because the not-knowing's killing him. Wondering what kind of trouble Brian got himself into, wondering just what they made him do to stay out of handcuffs.

But he kissed him, and Brian kissed back, and that's a step in the right direction. Not that he was so much worried about that. Not really. Not after what Mia told him.

_If anyone can bring him back, Dom, it's you,_ she said to him back in LA, just before he drove off from the race. _It was always you. _

The brother in him feels guilty for that, feels like he stole something from her, and that's never what he wanted to do. He wanted her to be happy. He wanted it so bad, he'd tried to ignore everything.

He'd lost that race before he'd even started his engine.

See, now, he knows better, and fuck, he must've been blind, because it took Mia telling him to figure it out. _I was convenient for him, Dom, _she told him one night, and that made his blood boil when she said it, but then she followed it up with, _and he was convenient for me._ And that changed things a little. _I was his way in, and he was my way out. I thought I'd found someone outside your orbit, Dom. But it turns out, he was in closer than anyone. _

And now he can see them. All the glances, all the smiles, all the touches that lingered just a _little_ too long. He's never seen anyone burn as bright as Brian, and he got to thinking that some of that burning…it might've been for him.

That kiss on the dock settled it. Yeah, Brian's hardheaded as they come, and no, it's not gonna be easy to bring him back. It's gonna take some work.

Luckily, Dom's never minded getting his hands dirty.

Of course, that won't matter if Brian never gets out of the shower. It's been fifteen minutes already, and it's still going, which he guesses isn't all that impressive next to Mia's thirty-minute marathons, but he's kind of getting impatient.

He figures he'll give Brian another ten – make that five – minutes before he checks on him, and decides to keep himself busy looking around the place. It definitely isn't good enough for him, but then, he has to admit it kind of suits him. It's about fifty-percent thrifts store, fifty-percent auto shop, furniture included. There's car seats against the wall by the bed, and the steel tool box at the foot of his bed would look more at home in the bed of a truck. There's car parts scattered around the place, from filters and oil on the counter by his food to the supercharger sitting on a phonebook on the table, and Jesus, Dom thinks. Talk about taking your work home with you.

Not that he's surprised. He remembers a few times having to kick Brian out of the garage when they were working on the Supra, because the guy was so dead set on finishing something he forgot the time. He remembers catching him trying to smuggle out an alternator because he was _this close_ to getting the rotor assembly right.

In hindsight, it's really kind of amazing he didn't realize how bad he had it for the buster sooner.

The surfboards are new, though, he thinks. Brian's got two of them leaning against the walls of the cabin, and it looks like they both have some wear in them. Looks like they got a lot of love, too; there's board wax and car wax sitting together on the table with a rag, a messed up credit card, and some packages of fiberglass cloth. It's clear he cares a lot about those boards, and Dom knows Brian takes care of what he loves. He respects that. He respects it a lot.

He's kind of curious, now. If Brian surfs like he drives, that same wild excitement, Dom can only imagine it's something to see. And it's not really his thing, but he happens to know there are some damn fine surf beaches in Los Angeles.

That'll have to wait, though. Brian's been in the shower for twenty minutes, now, and his time's up.

"Yo, Buster!" he calls as he makes his way to the back where the bathroom is. "You almost done in there?" There's no response, though, and he notices as he gets closer that there's no steam coming out through the door slats.

He has a thought.

"You've got to be shitting me." Without bothering with a warning, he pushes the door open. The lights on, the water's running, but it becomes pretty damn clear there's nobody home. It isn't until after he shuts the water off that he hears creaking from up above, and he looks up and sees the skylight open. "Damnit, Brian." He's always thought Brian acts a little like a monkey sometimes: the way he fights, with those long legs always hanging on; that time in Tran's garage, too, the way he'd dropped down from that beam like he was born to be ten feet up in the air. Part monkey, part golden retriever, _all_ pain in the ass.

Dom, on the other hand, is more comfortable on the ground. And besides that, there's no way in hell he's going through that sky light. Brian's a wiry little bastard, so it's one thing for him to do it, but Dom's not even gonna try it. Especially not since there's stairs up to the roof of the boat just beside the bathroom wall.

The night air is surprisingly cool when Dom walks out onto the top of the boat. There's wind blowing in from the water, whipping that hammock around like a jump rope. He's got his jacket on, so he doesn't feel it, but he sees Brian, sitting over there on the far corner of the boat behind the table and chairs with his legs hanging over the edge, and he'd bet money that short sleeve button up isn't doing nearly as much to keep the wind out.

"How long you been up here?"

Brian doesn't jump at the sound of his voice, doesn't even turn around, but he does tense. He's worn the hell out, but damned if the buster's not wound up tighter than a thirteen-hour clock. Whatever mess he just finished with before Dom showed up, it's got him shaken. His whole posture practically screams 'proceed with caution.'

"Few minutes," Brian says, giving a one-sided shrug. His voice is even rougher than before, and Dom gets a feeling it's only going to get worse. Poor kid just can't catch a break. "I was comin' back in."

Dom nods, even though Brian's still got his back to him, and grabs one of the chairs at the table, swinging it around and straddling it. He's closer to Brian's level, now. Closer to Brian, period, and he knows that it's all about gradual. One step at a time. Slow and steady, and even though that's not Dom's usual philosophy, he thinks he can bend a little for Brian's sake.

"So, what's wrong, Brian?" Because even if he's taking this steady, he's doing it direct; pussyfooting around wouldn't do anything but piss Brian off.

Brian chuckles – it might actually be a cough; Dom can't tell – and shakes his head a little. "Nothing's wrong, man. Everything's copacetic."

"That's why you climbed out your skylight? Because everything's copacetic?" It's not actually a question, just his way of calling Brian on his bullshit. "Try again, Buster."

"What do you want me to say, Dom?" Brian says, and it sounds like it wants to be irritated, but it can't manage more than a tired sigh. Jesus, Christ, they really did put him through the ringer. "You want me to say I'm hiding from you? 'Cause I'm not. I don't _hide_ from things, Dom. I face them head-on."

"Then why don't you face me?"

Brian's deflates a little at that. His head dips forward to rest against the rail, and a sigh too deep and weary for someone as young as Brian hits Dom's ears. "I just…needed to get my head on straight."

"Yeah?" Dom says. "And how's that working for you?"

Another chuckle. "Not so great," Brian admits wryly.

Dom figured as much. He knows it's a lot to spring on someone, and he knows his timing's for shit, but this…this has to happen, not just because Dom wants Brian close, but because he wants him _safe_. Happy. _Home_.

For now, though, he'll start with the first one. Pushing up out of the chair, he walks slowly, deliberately to the side of the boat where Brian's sitting, and he sits down next to him, folding his arms across the bar.

"There anything I can do to help?" he asks.

Brian glances over at him, and _shit_, Dom feels like someone's punched him in the gut. The look on Brian's face…his normal golden tan's gone pale, and his bright blue eyes are even brighter against the almost bruise-dark shadows around them. He just looks so tired, so torn, so _miserable_ that it takes every ounce of self control Dom has not to wrap his arms around him right then and there.

But he doesn't. Later, he decides; there'll be time for it later. But right now, Brian's got some shit he needs to sort through, and Dom's thinking he wants space to do it.

For a long while, it's silent between them. Nothing but the sounds of the waves lapping against the sides of the boat, nothing but the cars humming on the streets.

But then, "You should hate me," Brian says finally. His voice is dead even, almost casual, and vaguely, Dom wonders if that should worry him. That's not it, though. It's not hollow, just matter-of-fact. No bullshit.

Dom respects him enough to return the favor. "A year and a half ago," he says, "I did." And he means that. Back when he was in Mexico on the run, it didn't matter that Brian had just let him go. He was just so _angry_.

He realizes now that, fueling the anger, was an awful lot of hurt.

"You lied to me, Brian. Lied to all of us, and you nearly tore my family apart." And Dom watches as Brian's throat bobs visibly, watches as he scrubs his hands roughly over his face.

"So, what changed, Dom?"

Dom shrugs. "A year and a half's a long time to think, Bri."

The nickname, he thinks, is what gets Brian's attention more than anything. He doesn't really care what it was, though; he's just glad when Brian finally turns and looks at him again, even if it is with confusion written all across his too-pale face.

He figures his smile's probably not helping the buster out a whole hell of a lot, but he's trying to make a point. This is a _good_ conversation. He ain't about to grab him and throw him overboard. "And what I thought about," he continues, hoping to ease a little of that deer-in-headlights look Brian's got going on, "is that, in the end, you did right by all of us. You saved Vince and Jesse's lives, you had the balls to tell my sister the truth and set the record straight, and you kept my ass out of handcuffs _again_." The fact that he screwed his own life to hell to do it goes without saying, so Dom doesn't say it.

Anyway, he's not sure Brian needs any more to process. Jesus, he's actually starting to wonder if Brian's got a concussion or something, because he's sure as hell not firing on all eight cylinders. He still looks confused and…and kind of _sad_.

"I don't get it, Dom," he says. "Why are you here? Really?"

Dom's always tried to be a patient man, but if this was anyone but Brian, he would probably be losing it right about now. "I already told you why I'm here. I'm bringing you home."

"Yeah, but why?" Brian presses, and his eyes have finally got a little focus back in them. They're intense again – definitely not as much as they usually are, but this is a lot closer than that dazed look a few minutes ago. "Why do you care so much? Why did you drive all the way across the fucking country just to bring me back to LA?" He's not done; Dom can tell, but it looks like he's run out of fuel. He lets out this deep, _bone-crushing_ sigh, and Dom doesn't think he's ever seen so much conflict in a single face before. "Why did you kiss me?"

And there it is. That's the question Dom's been waiting for.

"Why do you think?"

He's not trying to give Brian a hard time by asking; he's not trying to dodge the question. It's just…he knows damn well why he drove 3,000 miles to get here. It's the same reason his stomach felt like lead when he heard about Brian getting in with that bastard Verone; it's the same reason his lungs remembered how to work when he saw that golden hair and those bright baby blues.

It's the same reason his heart feels like it's finally beating right again, for the first time in a year and a half.

And he thinks that, whether or not he realizes it, whether or not he'll admit it to himself, Brian knows it too.

It takes a while. Seconds tick by like minutes, but for this, Dom will wait all night if he has to. Because Brian needs to understand this.

Mercifully, it doesn't come to that, and slowly, Dom can see it dawn on him. He can see those crazy blue eyes – and yeah, he's definitely got a thing with those eyes, but he's seen two oceans, now, and they don't even come close – start to light up again, timid at first, like he's not quite sure he believes what's in his head, but then faster, until they're practically shining.

Dom's smile widens. "Look at that. The Buster's catching u—"

Before he can finish getting the gibe out, there's a pair of lips on his, and he really, really doesn't mind the interruption. He just grins broader into the kiss and wraps his arms around Brian, pulling him closer until there's no more space between them.

It's gonna take some work, alright. But this – holding Brian in his arms, where he's always, always belonged – _this_ is definitely worth it.


	4. Chapter 4

Dom's not sure how long they sit out there, mostly in comfortable silence, just watching the stars and the water. He gets the feeling Brian comes out here a lot, though, because there's this sort of peace on his face.

On the other hand, though, he notices after a while that he doesn't look as comfortable as before. He's tense again, maybe a little more pale, and Dom's pressed up close enough that he thinks he – no, he _definitely_ – feels Brian shivering.

And that shit's not gonna fly. See, he figured out a while back that Brian likes to be warm. Which sucks for him, because the guy's got next to nothing for insulation, so the chill seems to have a way of seeping in whenever it's there. And it looks like he was right about that shirt of his not doing much to keep him warm, because he's hugging himself, and even if he isn't saying it, Dom can tell he's cold.

So, Dom does the only logical thing. He's fine out – he's got a lot more padding, though – so he shrugs out of his leather jacket and, before Brian can muster up a protest, he drapes it around his shoulders.

A part of him's kind of smug when it covers up the _Tej's Garage_ logo on the back. Brian's his, and damned if it doesn't feel a little good to mark his claim. Besides, he knows Brian. He knows Brian wants to argue, wants to be macho and tell Dom he's fine, but it's a sure sign of how much it helps that he keeps his mouth shut and pulls the jacket closer, and when Dom puts his arm around him and pulls him closer into his side, he doesn't seem to mind that, either.

He's thinking maybe he should add 'cat' somewhere on that list of Brian's spirit animals, because he thinks he might actually start purring here in a bit.

Except…nah, he doesn't look that comfortable. Yeah, he looks better than he was, but his face is still pale, Dom realizes. Drawn. And it looks less like he's hugging his middle, and more like he's cradling his left arm, now that Dom gets to looking at it.

"You okay?" He tries to sound casual, but he's worried again. Hell, he hasn't stopped being worried since he heard about Brian going on the lamb, and especially not since he heard about this thing with Verone.

Brian gives a pretty unconvincing nod, and Dom thinks he probably knows it, because he sighs and adds, "I drove a car onto a moving yacht a couple hours ago."

Dom's pretty sure he's not imagining the hint of pride in Brian's voice, and he can't help smiling a little, too. "Figured that was your crazy ass," he says.

"Yeah." Brian grins and pulls Dom's jacket a little tighter around himself. "That was my crazy ass. Now it's my sore ass."

"That how you got that shiner?"

Brian nods, once. "Banged my head against the steering wheel pretty good," he says. It's not a complaint; he's just calling it how it is.

Honestly, Dom wouldn't mind if he _was_ complaining. He figures if you can't complain after crashing a car into some murdering millionaire's yacht, when can you? But, no, that's not Brian's style. The guy could probably be in a full body cast and try and brush it off like it's nothing.

"My man Rome broke his arm, though, so I came out lucky."

"You and I see 'lucky' very differently."

Brian just gives a one-sided shrug, which somehow ends in him yawning, and they're definitely back to golden retriever, because he lets out this kind of whine mid-yawn like he always does, and his whole body shakes. Dom's always thought it was kind of funny. Cute as hell, but funny.

"Making fun of me?" It's more an accusation than a question, but it's more a joke than either. "Asshole."

Dom chuckles. "Oh, I ain't making fun of you. I'm just trying to figure out how I'm gonna get your wiry ass down those stairs if you fall asleep on me."

"Nah, man, I ain't gonna fall asleep on you."

"You say that, but I give you ten minutes before you're passed the fuck out."

Smiling, Brian shakes his head. "No faith."

"I got plenty of faith in you," Dom tells him. "It's this rust bucket I don't trust."

"Hey, don't hate. She's got good bones."

"So did Alicia Turner in the twelfth grade, but I wouldn't climb on her if I didn't have to, either."

Brian gets a kick out of that. "Alicia, huh? This the part where I'm supposed to get jealous?"

"This is the part where you're supposed to let me take you to bed, Sleepy."

"Bullshit," Brian shoots back. "How easy do you think I am?"

"If it helps, I'll throw in a tuna sandwich." He takes his arm from around Brian's shoulders and stands, holding out a hand for Brian to take. "No crust."

And there it is – one of those full, cheek-splitting, eye-crinkling grins of Brian's, and that's worth every single one of those 3,000 miles and then some. "Damn straight, no crust," he says, taking Dom's offered hand. Dom tries to be careful hauling him up, sore as he knows he is, but his breath still catches and he still winces. He recovers quick, though, that grin falling right back into place, even if it's maybe a little more strained. "I'm a high-class broad."

"Damn straight," Dom agrees, and he steals a short, quick kiss before slipping his arm around Brian's waist. All kidding aside, he can definitely tell Brian's feeling that crash-landing, now. Every move he makes is ginger, like he can't even take a step without something hurting. Dom knows the feeling, and he's trying to help as much as he can without hurting him more, because he's thinking, if he looks, he'll see some nice little bruises starting to bloom along those thin hips and chest where the seatbelt bit in. As it is, he can already make out bruises on his arms, and the one on his brow's spread down under his eye to a real decent shiner.

He doesn't want to, but he has to let go of Brian when they get to the top of the stairs down. They aren't exactly wide enough for two, so Dom heads down first, and lets Brian bring up the rear while he goes and finds something to drink in the mini-fridge.

He's just got the thing open when he hears a loud thud, followed quickly by a few others and a sharp, surprised cry. And fuck a beer, because he's whipping around and letting the fridge slam closed behind him, because that…that didn't sound good.

It doesn't look good, either. He takes one look at Brian, who somehow went from standing at the top of the stairs to on his ass at the bottom in the two seconds Dom had his back turned, and he starts running. He has to step over a surfboard that tipped over when Brian fell, but it doesn't slow him down that much.

"Hey, hey, what happened?" he says quickly, dropping to his knees in front of Brian.

The younger man's got himself wedged back between the bottom stair and the wall, his right knee pulled up to his chest and the other stretched out. He's got his forehead pressed to his bent knee, and it looks to Dom like he's holding his left arm in a death grip, and damn, he's hurting bad, if those sounds he's making are anything to go by.

"Let me see." He's got one hand on the back of Brian's head, and he hooks the other under Brian's bent knee to pull it out, but Brian's curled up fucking tight. "Brian, let me see." And he's not sure if it's because Brian lets him or if he just can't stop him, but he manages to pull Brian's other leg out flat.

He's definitely cradling his left arm, Dom thinks. Except cradling isn't really the word. He's holding that shit like he's afraid it's about to fall off, and now that his head isn't buried in his knee, he can see the fucking _agony_ on his face. He's gone ashen, and Dom can feel him shaking in his hands, and he's already broken out in a cold sweat, none of which are good signs in his book.

"Fuck," Brian grinds out. His voice is pitched high and reedy, and the sound ties Dom's gut in knots.

"Okay," Dom says. "It's okay." He's trying to be careful, pulling his jacket away, but even that looks like it hurts him, and he's amazed his hands aren't shaking when he starts unbuttoning his shirt. "Breathe, Bri. I got you. It's okay." But he's kind of afraid he might be lying, because he doesn't think he's ever seen someone in that much pain, and he knows Brian can handle a lot of shit. Seeing the guy that broke a damn finger under a dropped engine and worked clear through the rest of the day before anyone even noticed, sheet white and in so much pain he can't even move…shit.

And when he finally gets his shirt open and manages to ease it off his left shoulder, he sees why. He was shit in anatomy class, but he knows, he _knows_ a shoulder ain't supposed to look like that. There's an unnatural-looking bulge, and the whole thing's a wicked purple-red. That bruising didn't just happen, either; it looks like it's had a couple hours, and Dom's wondering if the fall didn't just finish off a crack that was already there. Either way, Mia may be the nurse in the family, but he knows a broken collar bone when he sees one.

"Shit," he growls, because that wasn't what he wanted to see. It's there, though, and he knows he needs to deal with it. "Hold on, Bri. I'll be right back." He is, too. He runs and grabs a shirt from Brian's trunk, and then he comes back, ripping it up until he's got what he needs to work with. "Okay, Bri, I gotta move your arm—"

Brian makes a noise halfway between a hysterical-sounding laugh and a groan and presses his head against the wall. His eyes are screwed up tight, and it's like he can't quite catch his breath, because he's panting, and his whole body's shaking.

"Easy, easy." It takes some doing to pry Brian's other hand off his arm – and _shit_, that's a big bruise on his elbow – so that he can get the t-shirt around it, and Brian's gritting his teeth around a scream that still fucking hurts to hear. He tries his best to block it out, moving quick as he can without doing more damage to tie the t-shirt off behind his neck so that he's got the makeshift sling in place.

As soon as he's done, he's got his hand behind Brian's head again, pressing his lips to his hair and muttering quick, soft assurances. "You're okay," he tells him. "It's done, Bri. You're okay." His skin's cool to the touch, though, and that's _definitely _not a good sign, and as much as Dom wants to let him catch his breath, he knows he's got to get him to the hospital. "Think you can stand?"

The fact that Brian doesn't automatically nod tells Dom a lot of things, and none of them good. The fact that he actually ends up shaking his head is even worse.

"Brian, we gotta get you out to the car. Either you're walking or I'm carrying you, but you can't stay there." And as much as he wants to just go with the latter and save Brian the trouble, he's worried that might actually hurt him worse. Too jarring.

"Why not?" It's terse, hissed through gritted teeth, but Dom can't help thinking it's just fucking pitiful, and it kills him.

He moves his hand from Brian's head to cup his jaw, brushing his thumb just below the line of bruising on his cheek. "We gotta get you to a hospital." And _oh_, Dom thinks, Brian does _not_ like that word, because his eyes go wide.

"No," he says firmly, and it would actually be pretty impressive, if his face wasn't whiter than Dom's shirt. "No hospital."

"I'm not asking." He will _actually _drag his ass out to the car if he has to.

Brian stares at him for a long minute, his eyes hard and his pale face set. Dom thinks if he grinds his teeth any harder. But Dom's not backing down, and he can tell Brian's looking for an out, but he's not gonna get one. Brian seems to figure that out, too, because he lets out a laugh that sounds suspiciously like a sob and leans his head back against the wall.

"Shit."

Dom presses another kiss to his head. "Sorry, Buster." And he is. _Christ_, he is. But this isn't optional. "So, can you stand or not?"

It takes Brian a second, but finally, his head jerks in what Dom thinks is a nod.

"Alright, then, come on." He moves around to Brian's side, slipping under his other arm and putting a hand around his waist. Brian helps as much as he can, but Dom ends up pretty much dead lifting him to his feet. With the adrenaline, though, that's not all that hard; the only reason he's moving as slow as he is as they start for the door is because Brian's starting to list, and they barely make it out the door before Brian's doubling over the side of the dock, turning his insides out.

He hates to do it, but Dom takes the chance, with Brian clinging to the rail and a lawn chair right behind him to catch him, to run back onto the boat and grab a few things. There's a gym bag on the chair, so he grabs it and dumps it out on the floor before cramming it with shit that looks like it might come in handy that he can grab quick like flip flips and a couple plastic grocery bags, and he grabs his jacket, too, before running back out the porch.

Brian's right where Dom left him, except it looks like he's down to dry-heaving, because nothing's coming up.

He jumps like he's been shot when Dom comes up behind him and puts his jacket back over his shoulders – _gently_ – and slipping an arm back around his waist. "Catch your breath," he says, and Brian grits his teeth and nods like he's trying, but Dom can still feel his muscles convulsing. He waits until the worst of them die down to get Brian moving again, and he's making sure to watch the ground where they're walking, because Brian's barefoot, and the last thing he needs is tetanus. "Almost there, Bri." They're almost to the car, and with his free hand, he fishes his keys out of his pocket.

Brian's getting a little steadier on his feet, now, and by the time they make it to the car, Dom is _almost_ comfortable letting him go long enough to get the door open.

"Watch your arm," Dom says as Brian gets in, but Brian's actually kind of smiling, in a strained kind of way, and Dom's really not sure what to make of that. "What?"

"You kept it." It comes out sounding strained and hoarse, and Dom's wondering how much will power he's exerting to keep from singing his lunch again, but there's something in his eyes that isn't pain, and Dom's relieved to see it. "The Supra."

Even messed up as he is, of course Brian would notice. It probably doesn't hurt that, when they repainted it – because it _had_ been used in the heist, and it paid to be careful about that shit – they'd based it off Brian's old Eclipse, the one Tran destroyed, with bright green and a blue that doesn't even come close to Brian's eyes, but still manages to remind him of them.

He maintains he did it because he liked the design elements. Seriously. He's no sap.

Except for when he is.

But this…this isn't one of those times. Romance and charm can come when Brian's bones are all where they're supposed to be, and matter of fact, he's thinking getting his head looked out wouldn't be too bad an idea, either. It's pretty likely the vomiting's from the pain, but there's a chance it could be from the concussion, and that's not a chance Dom's willing to take. He'll get the docs to give Brian the full once-over when they get there. Make sure he didn't crack anything else he might end up knocking loose.

He makes sure Brian's in before closing the door and jogging around the hood to get in on his side. "Yeah, I kept it," he says once he's in, and he glances over to see Brian with his eyes closed and his head dug back against the seat. His nose his flaring, and he's got his death grip on his left arm again, but at least, Dom thinks, he isn't getting any worse. "It's our car." He and Brian built it. Sure, the others helped, but they put in some serious hours with this thing; there are a lot of memories with this car.

Some, he guesses, better than others.

Reaching across the dash, he puts a hand on Brian's knee and gives it a reassuring squeeze. "You'll be okay, Bri," he says softly. "You'll be okay."

He's gonna make damn sure of it.


	5. Chapter 5

Brian's tough; Dom's known that since the first time he locked eyes with him. He took one look at him, and he saw right through the sandy hair, though the wiry build and the too-big clothes, through the pretty face, because those eyes…those were a fighter's eyes. They were the eyes of someone that's seen a lot of shit and lived to shrug about it.

That's what Brian does. He shrugs, he smirks, and shit just rolls off him like beads of oil. He makes it seem that way, at least.

It took Dom a little longer to see through that. It took him longer to realize that shit didn't always roll off him; he just played like it did. He never griped, never complained, and Dom could respect that about him.

It wasn't until he'd caught him in the back room of the garage trying to tape up two broken fingers after Jesse slammed the hood down on them _four hours earlier_ that he kind of worried about it, too.

Two more broken fingers, a muffler burn, a concussion – he still feels bad about that one; he was there when it happened, and it'd still taken catching him with a fistful of aspirin to figure out that Vince had hit him harder than he thought – and even the pre-fall cracked collarbone really hit that home.

He's definitely got it, now.

Dom's had a broken collarbone before, back in his circuit days, so he knows damn well what they feel like. Every jerk, every jostle feels like the bone's breaking all over again, and that's _after_ everything's set. He doesn't actually remember much before that; he woke up in the hospital.

It's knowing that that's the only thing keeping Dom from flooring it all the way to the hospital. He wants to. Christ, it's taking every ounce of self-control he has to granny around the turns, but he does, because every one he takes too fast and every bump he hits too hard, Brian pays for it.

Sometimes, though, there's not a whole hell of a lot he can do about it. Sometimes, he hits a dip in the road – he'd like to know who thought it'd be a good idea to build a city on a swamp, because he can think of a few things he'd like to say to them – and he winces every time, tightens his grip on the steering wheel until he's pretty sure there're dents, because he _knows_ Brian feels it, even if he doesn't say so.

Brian's barely made a sound the whole ride. He's grunted a couple times, and his breath hitches, but Dom knows he's biting it back.

He wishes he wouldn't. It'd kill him, hearing it. Hearing him scream through his teeth again like he did when he fell, or howl like Dom knows he wants to, because Dom remembers wanting to do the same thing…it'd tear him apart.

But the quiet's even worse. Knowing that Brian's holding back, that he's trying so damn hard not to make a sound, it's so much worse, because it's like he's hiding. And he wants to tell him to stop, to just lose that fucking cool of his just this once, because he's got nothing to prove to him.

That's the thing, though. If it was anybody else, he might say it, but because it's Brian, he doesn't. He knows better. Knows _Brian_ better. It's not about proving himself to anyone; it's about proving himself to _himself_. Telling him to give that up wouldn't be right.

Besides, right now, Dom can find a way to be okay with whatever makes Brian feel better. They can work on his issues later.

So, he bites his damn tongue, and instead of saying anything, he just tightens his grip on the steering wheel and focuses on dodging as many obstacles as possible.

When they get to the hospital, though, all bets are off. He grabs the closest spot he can find – the damn things are tiny, but Lord help the son of a bitch that dings his door; he's got love for this Supra that's right up there with his dad's Charger – and gets out to help Brian.

To his surprise, Brians' already got the door open when he gets around to his side, and he's got himself turned in his seat with his legs out. That looks like it's about as far as he's gonna get on his own, though, which is fine with Dom. He's honestly impressed he made it that far.

He gets another surprise, though, when he reaches for the bag.

Brian must notice, because he lets out a sound Dom thinks is supposed to be a chuckle and lets his head tip sideways against the headrest. "Yeah," he says, and damned if that crazy little bastard isn't smiling, even if it looks thin as hell, "I can even put my own pants on sometimes."

Dom's actually thinking this might not be one of those times. Sliding on flip flops like he has is one thing, but he thinks a fly and a button might give Brian a little trouble right at the moment.

He keeps that to himself, though, and even manages a small smile of his own. "Smart and pretty, huh?"

Brian's shoulders shake around another almost-laugh. "You think 'm pretty?" Strained as it is, it's kind of amazing to Dom that he has it in him to crack jokes like that at a time like this; he's sheet white and hurting so bad he's actually shaking.

It's why he's so careful when he reaches back behind his head and leans forward to kiss his hair. "I think you're beautiful," he tells him softly. _But seeing you like this is killing me. _

He leaves that last part off for both their sakes: Brian's, because the damn fool would probably try that much harder to pretend he's fine; and Dom's, because saying that out loud is like admitting there's nothing he can do, and he can't.

Even if it's true.

"I knew you were a sap," Brian says suddenly, jerking Dom out of his head and back into the present. He's grinning at him, and Dom can't help noticing it looks a little less forced now.

He'll be sad to see it go.

"Smartass," he says, but there's no bite to it, because for him, the mood's ruined. He straightens, his hand lingering in Brian's hair just a second longer before slipping down to his good shoulder. "Come on. Let's get this over with."

Brian's smile falls almost immediately, and Dom hates himself a little bit for it. Rationally, he knows he's just looking out for him, but he can't help thinking, if he'd noticed something was up sooner, this wouldn't have happened.

That doesn't matter now, though. There'll be plenty of time later to beat himself up, but now's not it.

Brian, for his part, seems to be having a little argument with himself, too. His brows furrow, and he looks past Dom to the doors of the ER.

This time, Dom can actually feel the forced little chuckle and the shadow of a smile Brian dredges up doesn't even begin to reach his eyes.

"What're the chances I could get a lift?" he says after a minute. Dom's pretty sure he's joking, but this attempt is even shakier than the last ones.

"I'd say the chances of me offering are good," Dmo replies. "The chances of your stubborn ass accepting, not so much." He's joking too, except he isn't. He'd carry Brian in there in a heartbeat. Probably wouldn't be too hard, either; the buster probably weighs less than a bare engine block. And he's definitely gonna have to do something about that, but that's something for later, too.

Right now, he's got to figure out how he's getting his wiry ass into that hospital, because somehow, he doubts Brian's actually going to take him up on his offer. He guesses he could do it anyway. Not a whole hell of a lot the buster could do to stop him like he is.

But no, Dom knows when to cross lines and when to leave them. Brian's a big boy – even if he is ten kinds of crazy – and as hard as it is, Dom's gonna try to give him some space.

The kicked puppy look Brian's wearing all of the sudden isn't making that real easy for him, though. "This is gonna blow." It's not a question, not a complaint; it's a statement. A very resigned, very _miserable_ statement.

"Yeah, it is." He wishes he could tell him something else, but there's no point in lying. Best case scenario, they pop everything back in, get him a sling, and send him home with some happy pills. Worst case, he ends up staying a little longer, and things get a little more complicated than a pop, a sling, and a pill.

Brian's frown deepens. "Yeah," he echoes. He's nodding his head a little, and Dom can't decide if he'd give a million bucks to hear what's going on in his head, or if he'd give it not to.

Whatever's going on in there, though, it seems to come out okay. He doesn't look happy about it, but he starts to stand up out of the car.

Dom helps him, and he makes sure to keep a hand behind his head so he doesn't crack his skull open on the way out or something, because wouldn't that be the buster's luck? It's not much in the way of help. It's sure as hell not as much as Dom wants to give, but he's really going to try this boundaries thing. It's in his nature to be protective – Mia likes to tack on an _over_ in there, and he'll begrudgingly admit she might be right – of the things he cares about, but Brian's already made it clear he can stand on his own two legs.

Which, in hindsight, isn't the best choice of words, because Brian only gets _kind of _upright before his knees apparently decide to throw in the towel. He stumbles forward and lets out a muted yelp that Dom will never, _ever_ remind him he made, and Dom can practically feel the stab of temporary panic when he can't get his feet back under him.

It's unfounded. Dom catches Brian before he even really starts to fall, a firm hand on his hip and another on his good shoulder to steady him. "I got you, Bri," he tells him.

That was never a question; he'd never have let Brian fall. But the startled look in Brian's wide eyes and the steel-clamp grip he's got on Dom's forearm make him think that it needs saying. And when they start towards the ER doors, and Brian's grip gets just a _little_ tighter, he thinks it needs repeating.

"Hey," he says, if only to snap Brian out of whatever daze he's in, staring up at the ER like it's the gates of hell itself. Or the DMV. "I got you, okay?"

He sees Brian grit his teeth, the muscle of his jaw standing out visibly on his pale cheek. He's trying. Christ, he's trying hard to keep his cool, but the stress of that cartel shit, his shoulder, the hospital, or some combination of the three has got him spooked.

Eventually, though, he manages a stiff kind of nod. "Yeah…yeah, okay. I'm good."

Dom's not sure he buys that, but it'll have to do. And he definitely admires the effort.

It's kind of slow going, but they make it inside. Dom gets Brian into one of the waiting room seats – he knows that if Brian was feeling even a little bit better, it'd be damn near impossible to get him to sit still, and it makes him wonder about the follow-ups that he's gonna be dragging Brian to over the next few weeks – and he's about to go do whatever he needs to do to sign him in when Brian stops him.

"Dom," he says, and Dom figures the check-in can wait, because he knows that tone of voice. It's the tone of someone that's worked up a lot of guts to say what they're about to say. Even if Brian _is_ trying to be casual about it. "You don't have to stay, you know. I can catch a ride back. I mean, this shit—" he pauses when an older woman sitting a few seats down gives him the evil eye, and Dom doesn't care how old she is; he gives her one right back. Brian picks back up after a second, a little quieter. "This _stuff_ always takes forever. And I'm not even sure they'll let you back there, since you're not fami—blood related."

Dom takes a second to be proud of Brian for catching his slip. Means they're making progress. As for the rest…well, it's hard to be mad when he's actually genuinely trying to save Dom some trouble. The fact that he thinks Dom _wants_ him to is a little frustrating, but like he said: they can work on Brian's issues later.

"They'll let one guest back with you," he tells him. "Family or not." And he's using the word _family_ in a strictly legal sense, because Brian _is_ family as far as he's concerned. The law just doesn't see it that way. "Trust me; I've done this a few times." More times than he likes to think about, honestly. Sometimes, he thinks he's got a clumsy ass family.

Either Dom's imaging it, or Brian actually relaxes a little. "Cool," he says. "I just wasn't sure, you know? Don't usually have someone with me when I do this."

Which raises a few troubling questions, namely how many times Brian _does this_, and why the hell anyone would let someone go to the ER alone. No wonder the guy hates them; it's bad enough sitting in these places with company. The thought of Brian sitting in one of these places by himself, sick or hurt or whatever he'd be doing there…that shit's just not right.

"You know it wouldn't have mattered, right?"

Brian looks at him strangely. "What wouldn't have mattered?"

"Whether they let non-family in or not," Dom clarifies.

"Let me guess," Brian says, and there's a hint of a smile on his face again, "you'd have just busted in or something."

But Dom shakes his head. "Nah." He leans in a little closer, resting a hand on the curve between Brian's neck and his shoulder. "I'd have just told them we were married." And then he catches Brian's lips in a kiss.

That'll give that old shrew something to stare at.


End file.
